


don't get it twisted

by profound_garden



Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: F/F, Shopping Malls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:06:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23799730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/profound_garden/pseuds/profound_garden
Summary: Lindsey is a mall cop. Emily works at the pretzel stand.
Relationships: Lindsey Horan/Emily Sonnett
Comments: 4
Kudos: 66





	don't get it twisted

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this years ago, when I had very simple ideas of what was "cool" or "funny" or "a compelling narrative." Decided to repurpose it in the throes of my quarantine thirst for woso content. 
> 
> The original prompt: "au where character a works as mall security and character b is a sassy fuck who works in the cute little pretzel shop in said mall. character b always gets into spats with customers and character a has to walk character b to their car every night."

“That is IT, young woman,” the middle-aged woman shouted. “I am going to call security! Your behavior has been HIGHLY inappropriate!”

Emily rolled her eyes. She had been a little saucy, but the woman hadn’t been completely faultless, either. Who ordered a pizza at a pretzel booth? Sometimes, Emily really hated her job.

“What’s your name?” The woman snapped, trying to peer at her plastic name tag.

“Emily,” she sighed, “Emily Sonnett. Just tell them pretzel girl. They'll know who you mean.”

//

Lindsey Horan, Junior Officer of the Northpoint Mall security force, let out a deep sigh. This was the third time that week that she had received a complaint regarding a certain pretzel booth employee. And it was only Tuesday. How that girl managed to be charming enough to sell pretzels yet rude enough to spawn complaints was beyond Lindsey, who must have been unfortunate enough to share shift times with the girl―Emily, she remembered. She also remembered her boss, “Captain” Lloyd of the mall security force, lecturing her for referring to her time slots as “shifts”, but she tended to ignore her overly dramatic ideas of what “mall security” really entailed...

“They’re not just ‘shifts’, Lindsey,” Lloyd had once lectured. “They’re hours dedicated to a lifetime of service. Our job is to enforce the law of the land on the miscreants that run around wreaking havoc on this fine establishment. I could do this forever if that’s what it takes.”

Lindsey had nodded her agreement while privately reliving the time she had caught Lloyd printing out job applications for high school football coaching. Still, to each her own, she supposed, as she walked the now-familiar path towards the cheery yellow pretzel booth, between the sporting goods store and the food court.

//

Emily- no, pretzel-girl, Lindsey corrected herself (she had long since concluded it was best to dissociate as much as possible when dealing with… miscreants) straightened up once she saw Lindsey striding towards her.

“Hey, officer,” she put on a charming smile, “wanna buy a pretzel? They really spice up the monotony of minimum wage labor…”  
Lindsey scowled.

“Cut the marketing, Sonnett. We both know why I'm really here. Did you really have to tell that lady you make the pretzels with, and I quote, 'Clueless Karen antidote, which is how I can tell you haven’t had any’?”

Emily had the decency to look embarrassed. “Ok, so, not one of my best lines. I should’ve gone with ‘the rare flakes of that stick up your ass, huh? ‘Clueless Karen’ just doesn't have that zinger feel to it…” At Lindsey’s unimpressed look, Emily rolled her eyes and groaned. “Oh, fine! I shouldn't have said anything at all! I should've just sucked it up and told her that ‘no, sorry, we here at the Pretzel Palace unfortunately _aren't_ offering deep-dish pizzas at this time, but if you put a word in with our management maybe we can facilitate the change! Or maybe we can book you a flight to Chicago, the Windy City itself, where you can _personally_ drown yourself in a deep-dish pizza if you wish, at the expense of Pretzel Palace Incorporated!’” she ranted.

Lindsey would've been more impressed had the pretzel vendor not done similar rants the day before. Rants, as in plural, because the pair had had multiple previous encounters. Still, the junior officer was slightly sympathetic to Emily’s plight. Retail, or customer service in any form, was a profession straight from hell, Lindsey had come to learn. Of course, she didn't feel the need to actually share her internal commiserations with the girl awaiting a response.

“Eh, you were better yesterday,” she finally said, “I'd give you a 7, 7.5 at best. Too lacking in any actual humor.”

Emily donned a look of extreme shock, then offense. She spluttered for a few moments before she finally managed to issue a retort.

“Well! Okay! May I remind you that all of that was completely, 100%, genuine, organic, improv- the original under-appreciated art form... and- if you refuse to recognize my obvious brilliance, then that sounds like your problem. Whatever,” she sniffed. “What are you even going to do this time? You can't kick me out, I'm the last shift.”

Lindsey shrugged.

“I was told to just...monitor you,” she informed her, “but since the mall’s closing soon anyway, I think I'll just stand over there and intimidate you into being civil to your _paying customers_.”

Emily rolled her eyes, but made no move to protest.

//

Half an hour and four sold pretzels later, the mall was officially closed. The patrons had all left by now, leaving just the straggling salespeople to close up shop. After ridding herself of her uniform apron and hat, Emily vaulted over the counter, landing next to Lindsey.

“Alright, officer,” she teased, “you can let me loose now. The only person I can make cry now is Mr. Cordeiro from the Shoe Department or Sam from Macy’s.”

Lindsey wasn’t ready to let the most troublesome employee in the mall just walk off, though. She narrowed her eyes at Emily suspiciously and said as much.

“You just...just stay here,” she ordered. Emily raised her eyebrow.

“Like, for the night?” she joked, looking slightly like she wouldn’t be totally opposed to the idea. Lindsey shook her head, trying not to fall down the rabbit hole of wondering just what kind of escapades Emily Sonnett was willing to jump into.

“Just for a sec. I’m gonna walk you to your car, but I really want to take this uniform off, so I’m going to change. You better not run off.”

Emily laughed. “No offense, ‘officer’, but you have like zero real authority, and we both know it. Short of handcuffing me to this booth with those cheap nickel ‘cuffs,” she flicked the pair hanging from Lindsey’s pockets to prove her point (Lindsey pretended the dull “klack” in no way proved the quality, or lack thereof, of her equipment), “there’s nothing you can really do. Buuuut….you’re pretty cute. So I’ll wait for you. Even though I don’t think that uniform is doing your body any wrong,” she chuckled with an appreciative wink, throwing in the last sentence like an afterthought.

Lindsey was desperately trying to fight her oncoming blush. Not that she was into Emily like that, at all. Even if the freckled girl was kind of attractive, she was also a major pain in the ass, and...no, just no. Lindsey was flattered, that was all. Before she could get another word in, Emily continued. “Actually, I could go for a quick change, too,” she mused, gesturing down at her joggers and white t-shirt, flecked with spots of mustard. “I was gonna just change once I got home but I’ve got my clothes right here, might as well.” She reached over the counter and grabbed a drawstring athletic bag, with what Lindsey assumed was a change of clothes inside.

“Oh. Well, okay then,” Lindsey finally managed, any real semblance of authority gone. The two walked amicably towards the bathroom, as Emily made conversation that was mostly teasing Lindsey (“Do you have your partners roleplay with you in bed? ‘Oh officer, please, arrest me...use those cuffs while you’re at it…’- that kind of stuff?”). The light-hearted barbs continued as they each got changed in their respective stalls (“So Lindsey, granny panties or thongs? I get the feeling you’re a one-or-the-other type of girl, no in-between…”) until Lindsey finally emerged to find Emily waiting by the sinks. The junior officer did an internal double take at the sight of the pretzel vendor, normally in her yellow Pretzel Palace apron over some sort of athleisure outfit, now looking startlingly different in well-fitting (but still slightly rumpled) chinos and a silky sleeveless blouse. Since when had Emily been that _toned_? Lindsey finally snapped out of her trance when Emily looked up from her phone, quickly turning her gaze to her vigorously washing hands, and tried not to look as hot as she felt.

“I’m not usually this dressed-up,” the pretzel vendor broke the growing awkward silence (Lindsey cursed herself for being caught staring), “but I’ve got dinner with my parents later. They picked some ridiculously fancy restaurant,” Emily shook her head, chuckling with a _what can you do?_ kind of look.

“Uh.” Lindsey replied eloquently. She tried again. “Surprised anyone would want to get dinner with you.” As soon as the teasing words came out of her mouth, she questioned herself. Was that too harsh? She didn’t know anything about Emily’s dating life. What if it was awful and she had just rubbed it in her face? Why had she tried her hand at making the teasing mutual at all? Why couldn’t she have just stuck to her normal, professional self? Why-

Her shock wearing off, Emily let out a surprising laugh. “Did you- HA- did you just try to _roast_ me?!” She mimed (well, Lindsey hoped she was miming) wiping tears out of her eyes before recovering enough to continue. “WOW. Wow. Never thought I’d see the day. The Great Horan, throwing a roast at Northpoint Mall’s most notorious employee? Of her own free will? Wow,” she repeated. “Incredible. Amazing. Shocki-”

“Okay!” Lindsey cut her off. “I get it. Trying too hard. I’ll back off.”

“Nah, I’m just kidding. It was pretty good. 7, 7.5 at best,” Emily assured her with a wink.

“Whatever,” the mall cop huffed. “Let’s just go, I want to pass you off to your parents as soon as possible.” The pretzel vendor mimed a stab wound to the heart but followed Lindsey to the parking lot without protest. Once they walked outside, though, Lindsey stopped short.

“Which one’s your car?” she asked, scanning the dark parking lot. Only a few cars were left, as well as a sleek black motorcycle near the curb that she figured belonged to the tattooed sports store owner, Ashlyn.

“Uh, it’s not a car, actually,” Emily smiled sheepishly. At Lindsey’s widened eyes, she nodded, pointing at the motorcycle. “Yeah, it’s mine. It was an impulsive Christmas present for myself, but I really like it for short trips around town. Gotta get that street cred, right?” she joked.

Lindsey blinked. “O-kay. Well. Guess I’ve done my job then,” she said. “I am no longer responsible. If you crash on that black death trap, that’s your problem.” The pretzel vendor feigned offense but quickly recovered.

“Thanks, I guess...You were a great escort,” she smiled, but Lindsey was too tired to blush. “Same time tomorrow?”

“Sure,” Lindsey shrugged, already thinking about the long bath she was going to take once she returned to her apartment. She almost didn’t catch the next thing Emily said before she put on her helmet.

“Cool. And by the way, plenty of people would love to get dinner with me. Maybe you’ll be one of them someday.” Emily swung onto her bike and pulled away from the curb with a wave.

Apparently, Lindsey had been wrong about being too tired to blush.

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt had plenty of unmet potential — maybe I'll rewrite this or extend it one day. Feel free to leave a comment or thought about anything. Hope you all are staying safe and dealing with your woso void better than I am :'-)


End file.
